


The Ever-Favorite Object of My Heart

by aidennestorm



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Constitutional Convention, Fealty, Infidelity, M/M, Power Dynamics, Sexual Tension, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: “You may think me foolish, but I would not be the only man to willingly kneel before you.”When it comes to where Hamilton's devotion truly lies--There's never been anyone else.





	The Ever-Favorite Object of My Heart

As a junior delegate, Hamilton commandeers one of the smallest offices in the Hall. The writing desk spans almost the entire width of the room, the door unable to open fully if the chair is not propped against the farthest wall, a window so small even a candle provides more light—

But these are trivial concerns when his every nerve is ablaze, flush and exhilarated and _alive_. He envisions the scene again in his mind: his General seated in a place of honor as president of the convention. Dignified. Poised. Majestic. His gaze intent, unceasing, following Hamilton’s arms as they emphasized a point, his head as he turned to address another delegate, his lips as he spoke of his proposal.

 _The General who might be our King._ He cannot suppress the shudder that flows through him so he pauses in his writing and allows himself to think, allows himself to _imagine_ —

“Hamilton?”

He startles, dropping his quill and dripping a long line of ink onto the parchment. A low curse slips out and he glances up apologetically. “Forgive me, sir, I wasn’t expecting—”

“Ah. Of course.” Washington enters the room, cautiously stepping over Hamilton’s extended legs, and pushes the door closed. Though it has been years since the war, years since they shared a space so cramped, it is still so simultaneously familiar and maddening—the mingling of their breaths in the air, the warmth emanating from Washington’s skin, the thrum of desire under Hamilton’s every heartbeat. It takes several moments before he realizes Washington is speaking, and manages to hear only, “…would not want to disturb your work.”

“I…” He coughs. Composes his racing thoughts. “These are arguments for tomorrow’s caucus.”

“Already?” Washington shifts to stand over his shoulder, resting a hand on the back of his chair and leaning in to peer at the document. Hamilton stills as Washington continues, “I daresay the other delegates will need a few days to recover. You were quite audacious, insisting on a leader for life. Especially insisting on myself as that leader.”

His voice is weak, almost beseeching, overwhelmed by the close proximity. “Sir—”

He receives a raised eyebrow in response, Washington’s unflinching appraisal stripping him bare. Exposed. “I know your public reasoning,” he says with a wave of his hand. “You explained them—in detail—before the other delegates. I would know your private reasoning.”

He swallows. Tries to _think_. “I have served with you. Under you.” An image rises in his mind unbidden and he deliberately forces it to the depths of his thoughts before he can be consumed by a vision of _serving_ , of flesh and sweat and need. “You have wisdom and experience, and I trust both of these singular attributes alone more than I trust any other man as a whole.”

“When you were under my command you scarcely demonstrated such feeling.”

His cheeks burn, embarrassment and chagrin warring under his skin. “I was young.”

“You _are_ young,” Washington corrects gently. “And, I fear, overly zealous.”

“You may think me foolish, but I would not be the only man to willingly kneel before you.”

Washington stares at him disbelievingly. “ _Willingly_ kneel? You, Hamilton?”

The words surge through his chest, a challenge unable to be left unanswered. Impulsively, Hamilton drops to his knees. The floor is dusty and will undoubtedly leave marks on his new emerald trousers but his ears are roaring, his mind flooded with nothing but this sight: Washington speechless, frozen as Hamilton clasps one of his broad, rough hands, presses his lips to each finger.

 _This is not a game_ , he realizes too late, and when he wills himself to raise his head, sees an identical stunned comprehension in Washington’s eyes. After a few moments of silence, Washington finally speaks, his voice hoarse when he wonders, "And you would… declare me king. Pledge your fealty to me.”

Hamilton’s reply is immediate. Instinctive. “Yes.”

“Before your critics?”

“Yes.”

“Before your allies?"

He takes a ragged breath. "Yes."

Washington pauses, still and searching. But when he meets Hamilton’s eyes again, his expression is knowing. Dangerous. “Before your wife?”

Guilt, sharp and searing, cuts through him. _Why have my thoughts not turned toward you?_ he wonders, though in truth there is no question at all. _I am sorry, my Eliza, but I could never—I have never been able to—I do not want to resist._ His throat feels drier than the sands of St. Croix but he rasps, “Yes. _Yes_."

A storm, fierce and heated, rages in Washington’s gaze. “Alexander. My right hand man.” The awe, the pride, the satisfaction, the possession—it is too much and he closes his eyes, drowning in the weight of Washington’s hand atop his head, crowning him, _blessing_ him—

" _Hamilton_ ," Washington whispers suddenly. Urgently. "Up."

He never thinks to disobey. He instantly rises to his feet, stands motionless as Washington puts a finger to his lips. He hears it then—footsteps, more than one set, approaching. He holds his breath until they pass by the door and no longer echo through the halls.

"We might have given a public display after all," Washington murmurs and he is nearly overcome by the thought that anyone could have entered the office, witnessed him kneeling at Washington’s feet, that they would have surmised—

Washington smiles. A rare smile, modest and precious, bestowed only when he is especially gratified. “Considering the circumstances, we should continue our discussion somewhere more… discreet. I am renting a small house during our Convention. Will you join me for dinner tonight?

It is an offer for withdrawal, an opportunity to retreat… but Hamilton has never known anything but to advance. "Now and always, Your Excellency," he affirms, and Washington's eyes gleam.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as a prompt fill on [my tumblr.](http://aidennestorm.tumblr.com/post/154522047062/im-inspired-by-both-the-accusation-of-monarchism) Shoutout to dreamlittleyo, who persuaded me to post it here too-- thank you! You can also catch me at [walkerstormfanworks](walkerstormfanworks.tumblr.com) where I work on collaborations with walkerbaby.


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